


Tapping On My Roof and Walls

by Ladyfeets



Series: Ain't No Sunshine [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, gratuitous Simon & Garfunkel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyfeets/pseuds/Ladyfeets
Summary: Sherlock misses England and all it means to him.





	Tapping On My Roof and Walls

Sherlock paces around his bolthole in Portland, wracking his brain thinking of where Moran might be hiding out.  The man's a sniper, his instinct would be be tall buildings, good vantage points. A steady rain has been pelting the cracked glass of the attic window for hours. He flicks on the little radio by the toaster, something, anything to drown out the noise in his head.

"...through the window of my eyes I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets To England where my heart lies"

It hits him like a lorry. Longing for London, for Mrs. Hudson's scones, for goddamn decent tea. His hands tear through his hair, and he begins pacing the narrow room -

_My thoughts are many miles away, they lie with you when you're asleep and kiss you when you start your day_

John Watson. John Watson may be staring through the sitting room window at the rain. Thinking he's dead. Thinking of their last real conversation.

Sherlock had been fidgety before his fall. It had to happen. He had to lie to the ones he held most dearly. John had been reading the newspaper. Sherlock had been lying in the sofa, pretending to be in his mind palace so John didn't fret over him.

A susurrus of paper. A shuffle of sock feet. Then, inexplicably, fingers at his temples. Slow circles, then fingers tangling in his curls.

"John - "

"Shh, you're thinking too hard, genius." John's voice was throaty, tired, and achingly fond. Gentle fingernails scratched over his scalp, and Sherlock went limp.

"I know, y'know." John said. Sherlock froze, eyes still closed, trying to compose a quip about the inanity of the statement.

"I mean, I don't really know. Whatever it is. I know there's something you're not telling me, and it's something bad. I wish you'd tell me. But we'll get through it, yeah?"

Sherlock blinked up into John's stormcloud eyes. "You're my best friend.", John choked on the words. Sherlock held those blue eyes for a warm second before John looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply.

"I'd go through hell for you, if you'd only let me"

Back in Portland, Sherlock picks up the old violin he found at the thrift shop around the corner. He plays idly, scales and simple melodies. "Over the Rainbow", "Wild Mountain Thyme." Then his playing takes a turn. Notes stack together and make something new. It's brown and soft and home. It's John.

His mobile chirps. Sherlock startles and scrabbles through the pockets of his dressing gown. Mark spotted. Benson tower.

_And a song I was writing is left undone_

Two days later Sherlock returns to his room. Exhausted and weak with hunger, he curls up on the sofa. Moran is gone. Just Ivanovich left.

He wonders how much more he can take. Wonders why he did this in the first place.

_And so you see I have come to doubt all that I once held as true_

Wishes he had gentle nails against his scalp and the smell of John's laundry detergent.

_I stand alone without beliefs - The only truth I know is you_

The window is still being bombarded from the storm. He watches droplets trickle to the frame.

_And as I watch the drops of rain weave their weary paths and die_

He can do this. He has to. For John.

_There but for the grace of you go I._

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the song, lovelies. One of my top 5 rain songs. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXZyDtzDJMYhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXZyDtzDJMY  
> I'm a noob so feedback is appreciated.


End file.
